


Time Brings Roses

by gayspaceelf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayspaceelf/pseuds/gayspaceelf
Summary: Alistair is nothing like Cailan.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kauri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/gifts).



It isn’t simply that she dislikes Alistair, because she doesn’t know him well enough to dislike him. She can count every word that they have spoken to each other since their wedding, and could repeat them too, if prompted. All of what she knows, which seems to total less and less over time, comes from judgments she makes in moments like these, where they do nothing but sit together in silence. The years she spent playing The Game have made her skillful, and Alistair has not yet learnt how to hide himself. 

The light wind that wafts through the window beside them pulls at the pages of his book half heartedly, but he doesn’t seem to react, or even notice. Anora has no idea what he is reading, and she suspects, from the furrowing of his brow, and the way that his nose wrinkles just slightly in concentration, he doesn’t either. One day, she tells herself as something in her heart clenches, she will be able to look at him and not see her lost husband. But, for the moment, she does not know him well enough to separate the two, even though she knows better. Or at least should know better. Where Cailan was a boy playing at war, listening to tales with bright blue eyes, Alistair has seen war. His eyes are dark and brown and harsh, a pair of scars trace from his lips to his cheek, and she does not want to ask the origin of either.

He must have noticed her stare, because he looks up from his book, doesn’t merely meet her gaze, but challenges it. They hold like that, and if it were not for the continuing wafting of the curtains, they’d look like they were both frozen in time.

Alistair grunts, and looks back down to his book. Anora lets out a silent sigh.

He is nothing like Cailan.

 

-

Cailan was never quite sure if he meant what he said, and nobody else was either. He teased and prodded and toyed with words, never staying long enough to see or care about the collateral damage he left behind. He may have been in love with her once, but Anora doubted he’d even have known if he was. Cailan’s love, not just for her, but for anything, was constant as smoke, and just as opaque. 

Alistair is not in love with her, she murmurs to herself under her breath. This she knows. But sometimes, when their official appearances force them to stay close, their hands brush and their eyes meet. And then, she sometimes thinks he could be.

The grass is still cool and dewy in the mornings, when she sits here in the palace garden, trying to collect her thoughts. The roses in the flower beds are not in bloom, but a few of them are getting close, pushing their buds open with all the mid-spring hopefulness they can muster. The majority of the rose bushes however, remain barren and empty. 

 

-

Cailan had his lovers, and Anora learnt to accept it. That did not mean she liked it, but Anora learnt very quickly that what she liked mattered very little to him. Besides, said the whispers of courtiers around her, that was very understandable given his wife’s condition. She did not like it, but she learnt to cope with it. Even as serving girl after serving girl started to avoid her eye, she still coped with it. 

And yet, a year into their marriage and miles away from The Warden, Anora feels something clench in her stomach when she overhears some gossip. She’s above the pair of servants on a staircase, freezes, and rubs the fabric of her dress between her right index finger and her thumb while they talk. 

Anora is not sure where discomfort about the gossip ends and discomfort that she has such an emotional reaction begins. What she does know is it is not because of The Warden herself, justifiable as it would be, given The Warden holds her father’s life in her hands. Instead, she realises, as her stomach sinks further, it is because of Alistair.

She starts to move again, swiftly but quietly. The floorboards barely creak under her steps, and the servants do not notice her presence until she is nearly beside them. They turn towards her, expecting somebody else, given how their eyes flash with guilt.

“Oh”, says one. “Your highness. We were just…”

Anora takes advantage of the serving girl’s trail off into silence to muster as much steel as she can into her voice.

“I know”, she says, and her voice is sharp and mercifully still as it cuts through the air. “I know.”

 

-

The first time Anora kissed Cailan, the heavy aching in her heart may have been love, or may have been longing for a time before her new duties as queen. His hands were soft as they brushed loose hairs back from her face, and she can still remember the warmth of his breath against her skin.

The first time she kisses Alistair, everything and nothing came between them all at once.

Alistair’s hands are calloused, even after the year he has spent as king, his stubble just as rough against her face as she presses her lips to his, then removes them an instant later. He does not close his eyes, she is sure of that, even as she does, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. 

When she pulls away he is still looking at her with wide eyes.

“Oh”, he says, and then says nothing more.

Anora drops his hands, and turns on her heels to leave. But before she reaches the door, he is beside her, long strides closing the gap between her and the husband she didn’t ask for. Alistair is gentle as he places a hand on her shoulder and makes her face him, but the small gasp Anora makes is audible. 

“Anora”, he begins, his eyes softer than they have been in a long time. Something in them, something soft and confused, something she almost pities, reminds Anora of the beginning of their marriage. He was not born for this life.

But then neither was she.

Her words are almost whispered when they come, and for a second she is a child again, running between the skirts of nobles, learning rituals she still does not understand, lost in a palace that seems too large to comprehend. 

“Alistair”, she says. “Do you ever think you could love me?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't have written for this ship in most circumstances, so thanks to Kauri for giving me a writing workout! It was a bit of a challenge, but an enjoyable one. I just hope it turned out alright :')


End file.
